


And They All Died of Dysentery

by FunkyWashingMachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Comedy, Commentary, Costumes, Crack Treated Seriously, Death, Friendship, Fun, Funny, Games, Gen, Ghosts, Hearing Voices, Historical, Humor, Illnesses, Imagination, Lampshade Hanging, Oregon Trail, Silly, Spirits, Stargazing, Video & Computer Games, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 19:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15914931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyWashingMachine/pseuds/FunkyWashingMachine
Summary: Pidge mods the Monsters and Mana system to play Oregon Trail





	And They All Died of Dysentery

            “Hey Pidge,” Lance walked into the room.  “What’s going on in here?”

            “Lance!  You’re just in time!”

            “Oh yeah?  For what?”

            “I just finished programming this mod to Monsters and Mana!”

            “Aww, sweet!” Lance said.  “I don’t know what you think could make it BETTER but I’m listening.”

            “I synced my computer’s copy of Oregon Trail to the Monsters and Mana system, after creating an algorithm to let it decide which models to use where.”

            “Uh… how long did THAT take you?”

            “Not THAT long, come on, it’s a simple game.”

            “Yeah, and a good way to get through a boring class.  So can we start a round?”

            Pidge grinned.

            “Well, to start, we’ll need a bigger wagon party.”

 

            “So, what’s the Oregon Trail?” Shiro asked.

            “Well,” Pidge said, “Before they made it a computer game, it was this trail people took across America to settle in Oregon.  And like, a shitload of them died.”

            “Wait, it was a real thing?” Lance said.  “I thought it was just a computer game.”

            “Yeah, no, it was real.  What, you didn’t learn anything by playing it?”

            “I learned stuff!  I learned it’s best to start out with the most money!”

            “Yeah, but you don’t get as good a bonus for that,” Hunk said.

            “Would you rather get a BONUS, or die of dysentery in two days?”

            “Touché.”

            “Is this game… supposed to be FUN?” Keith asked.

            “It’s supposed to be EDUCATIONAL,” Pidge said.  “But I’m sure we’ll have fun playing it as a mod.”

            “Dibs on wagon leader!” Lance shouted.

            “Hey, this is MY mod, _I_ should be wagon leader.”

            “Would you let me be wagon leader for two grembleflip monkos?”

            “Let’s see them first.”

            Lance dug through his pockets.

            “Okay, I only have ONE of them with me right now.”

            Pidge took it.

            “Deal.”

            She passed around the character cards.

            “All right, everyone pick your character builds and then we’ll get started.”

 

            It was a lovely spring day in Independence, Missouri.

            “JESUS can they NOT blast the music like that?” Lance clapped his hands to his ears.

            “Ugh, sorry,” Pidge said.  “I didn’t set a limit to that parameter and I guess it decided it was important.”

            She futzed with the screen to turn it down.

            “Is that… the Barney song?” Lance said after a moment.

            “Lance that’s Yankee Doodle.”

            “I swear that’s the Barney song.”

            Hunk leaned over and whispered something to him.  Lance suddenly looked amazed.

            “Holy shit.”

            “Hey, Shiro, nice cravat,” Pidge nodded.

            Shiro fluffed it, and Hunk nudged him with an elbow.

            “Is that the only reason you picked the lawyer build?”

            “I think you would’ve gotten one too if you’d imagined yourself with it,” Shiro said.

            “Too bad,” Hunk said.  “I’m a carpenter, I’m all about practicality.”

            “Lance, aren’t you a doctor?” Pidge looked over.

            “Yeah,” Lance said.  “That’s what the stethoscope is for.”

            “Yeah, but what about the… cowboy stuff?”

            “What, that’s not how they would’ve dressed for this?”

            “No.”

            “Hey, I don’t know that much American history, cut me some slack.”

            “Yeah,” Hunk said.  “How come no one’s talking about the fact that Keith is a redcoat?”

            “JESUS KEITH, are you a proud American or AREN’T you?” Lance shouted.

            “Um…”

            “I thought you were a blacksmith,” Pidge said.

            “Why can’t I be a redcoat blacksmith?”

            “Because we’re all AMERICANS here,” Lance said.

            “Hey,” Hunk thumped Keith on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry about it.  There are plenty of people who don’t like America.”

            “Well, in any case,” Shiro pushed his lawyer glasses up his nose, “We’re all here together because we’re done with THIS part of America.  And really, we all want the same things over in Oregon.  …What did people move to Oregon for?”

            “You know,” Pidge said.  “Land and shit.”

            “Well then,” Shiro said.  “We’d better get moving if we want… land and shit.”

            “All righty!” Lance clapped.  “Where’s our wagon?”

            “We don’t have one yet,” Pidge said.  “We have to buy all our supplies at the general store.”

            “Oh, fun,” Lance said.  “How much money do we have?”

            “Well, lucky for you I’m a banker,” Pidge said.  “So we don’t have to worry about that.”

            “What, you’re not playing this for a challenge?” Lance said.

            “I’m playing this to win.”

            “Well, as the wagon leader, I get to decide what we’re buying,” Lance said, marching towards the store.

            Nobody else seemed quite as enthused.

 

            “Holy shit, look how much bacon you can buy at FIVE CENTS A POUND!”

            “You better stock up well before your trip,” drawled the shopkeeper.

            “What do you guys think, can you survive for three months on bacon?” Lance polled the party.

            “What’s this?” Shiro picked up a bottle.

            “Some kind of medicine?” Hunk guessed.  “And probably this other one, too.”

            “Okay, we’ll start with four hundred pounds of bacon,” Lance told the shopkeeper.

            “We’re gonna need, like… an actual ox,” Pidge said.

            “All right, throw in an ox or two,” Lance said.  “Man, what a great store where you can buy bacon AND oxes!”

            “There’s ammunition and stuff, too,” Keith said.

            “Cool!  Do they have a frying pan for the bacon?”

            “And we’ll probably want some extra clothes in case it gets cold,” said Hunk.

            “Two hundred more pounds of bacon, please,” Lance said.  “And a frying pan.”

            “You better stock up well before your trip,” said the shopkeeper.

            “I think that means we’re doing it badly,” Keith said.

            “Keith, are you the wagon leader, or am _I_ the wagon leader?”

            “I’m starting to wish you weren’t.”

            “That’s JUST what a redcoat would say!”

            “Look, I don’t know much about period costumes, either.”

            “Well, whatever’s in these clothing bundles is probably more accurate,” Pidge poked one.

            “Are you saying you don’t like what we picked?” Lance huffed.

            “I’m saying a lot of you are dressed pretty terribly for a two-thousand-mile journey.”

            “You better stock up well before your trip,” said the shopkeeper.

            “OKAY YES WE’RE DOING THAT,” Lance said.  “Give us, like, some clothes and some bullets and like, four extra wagon wheels.”

            “You may only carry three wagon wheels,” said the shopkeeper.

            “Fine, give us three.  Think you can cover this, Pidge?”

            Pidge sighed.

            “You are going to owe me big time once we get to Oregon.”

 

            “Hey, look at that!” Lance said as they left the store.  “Here’s our wagon!”

            There was a pair of oxen already hitched and lowing.

            “Aren’t they cute?” he went up to them.  “The guy on the left is gonna be Jose, and the guy on the right is Chuck.”

            “Wow, that was nice of them,” Hunk said, looking in the wagon.  “They already packed it for us.”

            “Well, you know, it’s not THAT detailed of a game,” said Pidge.

            “All right, everybody in!” Lance declared.  “And rock me mama, let’s get going!”

 

            “Lance?” Shiro leaned out the front.  “You having an okay time driving this thing?”

            “Yeah, I just need to get a feel for the controls,” Lance said.

            “Well, get it faster,” Hunk moaned.

            “Hunk, you better not be throwing up in there.”

            “Well, maybe drive better!” Pidge shouted.

            “Hey!  Don’t make me turn this wagon around!”

            “We’re coming towards a river,” Shiro said.

            Pidge checked the map.

            “Looks like we’re at the Kansas River crossing,” she said.

            “Oh god,” Hunk said.  “I don’t think I can take this.”

            “Relax, Hunk, I’m not gonna tip the wagon.”

            “The river looks pretty deep,” Pidge said.

            “It only looks deep to you because you’re short.”

            “We should caulk the wagon and float it across,” Pidge said.

            “I can’t promise I won’t be sick,” said Hunk.

            “Don’t worry,” Lance said.  “It’s not as deep as Pidge says it is, we’re just gonna walk right through it.”

            “They call that ‘fording the river,’” Pidge said.

            “Look Pidge, I didn’t become wagon leader just so people could lecture me.”

            “It’s an educational game.  I’m educating you.”

            “Well, I also didn’t start playing this game to learn things.  Go, Chuck!  Go, Jose!”

            The water rose pretty fast around them.

            “Uh, Lance,” Shiro said.  “I think Pidge was right about this.”

            “You serious?” Lance turned back.  “Chuck and Jose are doing fine.”

            “Chuck and Jose don’t have to worry about getting their clothes wet,” Keith picked a bundle off the floor.

            “Aw, crap,” Pidge went after a floating package.  “There was food in there.”

            “NOT THE BACON!” Lance shouted.

            Pidge watched it sail out the back.

            “Sorry, it got away.”

            Lance sighed.

            “Well, you guys are all good swimmers, right?”

            Shiro raised his hook hand.

            “Probably not.”

            “Whatever, we’re almost to the other side,” said Pidge.  “We’re just gonna have wet clothes for like, another week.”

            “Yeah, we’ve been through worse than that,” Lance said.

            They wrung out a few things when they hit the shore.

            “I mean, it could have gone a lot worse, right?”

            “Uh, hang on,” Keith checked his display.  “It says I have typhoid.”

 

            They buried Keith a few miles later.

            Or, that was how they referred to marking the spot where his body disappeared.

            “Dangit, I woulda taken that coat,” Lance said.

            “You’ve been making fun of me for that this whole time,” Keith said.

            “Sorry, buddy, can’t hear ya.  Must be the wind.”

            “Is this seriously where I die?  It’s been, like, two minutes.”

            “Them’s the breaks,” Pidge said.  “Maybe you’ll survive in the next game.”

            “Wait…” Hunk said.  “So he can’t just make a new character and come back?”

            “Not in THIS game,” Pidge said.  “That’s the whole challenge of Oregon Trail, trying to make it through with the original party.”

            “Well this party kinda blows,” Lance said.

            “We should write something on this marker,” said Shiro.

            “I’ll do it,” Lance said.  “As the wagon leader and therefore the person responsible for this.”

            “Also you’re a DOCTOR,” Pidge reminded him.

            “Yeah, also I’m a doctor.”

            He scraped an epitaph into the wooden plank.

            _Here lies Keith.  He died._

            “Very touching, Lance,” said Pidge.

            “It’s kind of hard to write on this.”

            “Would you like some help from a carpenter?” Hunk asked.

            “I said I was responsible for this, and I meant it,” said Lance.  “At least that’s one less person eating our bacon.”

            “What is it with you and bacon?” Pidge sighed.

            “You haven’t tried HUNK’S bacon is all!  Hunk!  Start us some bacon!”

            “Isn’t this… a funeral?” said Shiro.

            “Yeah, I’m not feeling very missed,” said Keith.

            “You guys hear that?” Lance raised his head.  “Must be the wind again.”

 

            “I think… the bacon only tastes as good as you imagine it to,” Pidge said, chewing on a strip.

            “What if I imagine it to taste like something else?” Hunk asked.

            “I don’t know.  Try it.”

            “Hmm.  I’m getting notes of marshmallow and graham cracker.”

            “Hey, really?” Lance said.  “Then I’m gonna imagine my mom’s cooking!”

            Pidge snorted.

            “I thought you said HUNK makes the best bacon.”

            Lance looked up from his food.

            “I love you, Hunk, but you’re not my mom.”

            “That’s fine,” Hunk said.  “I love you too, but you’re not my kid.”

            “You jealous, Keith?” Lance said.  “You didn’t make it to Imaginary Bacon Cookout!”

            Keith folded his arms.

            “I seem to remember that you couldn’t hear me anymore.”

            “Man,” Lance said.  “It’s a good thing Keith can’t hear us because he would be so jealous right now.”

 

            “Well, gentlemen, these buffalo aren’t going to go extinct by themselves,” Lance said.  “We’re going hunting!”

            “We still have a lot of food left,” Shiro said.  “I don’t think we should shoot anything.”

            “Shiro have you even PLAYED Oregon Trail?  Shooting stuff is the only fun thing IN it!”

            “What Lance, you’re not having fun?” Pidge smirked.  “Then maybe it’s time to let somebody ELSE be the wagon leader.”

            “Hey, no takebacks now, I gave you that monko!”

            “You gave me one after you promised TWO.”

            “YOU said it was a deal!”

            Hunk snickered.

            “Hey, I don’t wanna stir anything up here, but I think Lance already ate the other one.”

            “WHAT?” Lance yelped.  “No, I didn’t!  I… wait.”

            Shiro put a hook on his shoulder.

            “Guys, we’re all a team here.  Pidge, you can be the wagon leader NEXT time.”

            “You know what,” she said.  “I hate sharing.”

            “Then maybe you won’t be such a great wagon leader after all,” Lance chided.

            “Uh, guys,” Hunk said, looking in the wagon.  “It looks like while you were arguing, a thief came and stole all our clothes.”

            “What?” Lance said.  “I didn’t see a thief come in!”

            “Maybe it’s a ghost,” Pidge scoffed.  “You know.  Cuz our party is haunted now.”

            “You guys really think I would do that?” Keith said.  “And you really think I would rather steal clothes than magic imaginary bacon?”

            “All right, I have an idea,” Lance said.  “We’re gonna burn a piece of bacon to appease any unrestful spirits that may be haunting our party.”

            “You know, I don’t think there’s any ghosts in the original Oregon Trail games,” Hunk said.

            Pidge scoffed.

            “I don’t think there’s any ghosts in THIS one.”

            They started a fire.  Lance threw in the bacon.

            “Dearly departed Keith,” he said.  “We hope that you will accept this sacrifice of imaginary bacon and stop haunting our wagon party.  And please don’t kill any of us, this trail is hard enough already.  Amen.”

            The bacon crackled into smoke.

            “Huh,” Lance checked his screen.  “Why does it say we lost two wagon wheels?”

            Pidge looked over.

            “Because the wagon caught on fire.”

            “GODDAMMIT, KEITH!”

 

            “You doing okay back there, Hunk?”

            “No.”

            “Sorry, I’m trying not to rock the boat so much.”

            “Lance,” Pidge said.  “You’re a DOCTOR.  Maybe he’s sick.”

            “Can you guys wait FIVE MINUTES for me to pull over?”

            “Do you want there to be puke all over your bacon?” Pidge said.

            Lance pulled over.

            “Okay, Hunk, we’ve stopped.  You feel better?”

            “No.”

            Lance hopped from the seat.

            “All right, buddy, Doctor Lance is here.  Where does it hurt?”

            “Everywhere,” Hunk moaned.

            “Okay.  Somebody get me a hammer.  I’m gonna check your reflexes.”

            “Lance,” Pidge said.  “Do you even know what reflexes MEAN?”

            “Yeah.  It’s something doctors do.”

            “In THIS situation?”

            “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

            “Trust ME, I’m a banker.”

            “Of course I trust you, Pidge, and I trust your judgment in making me the wagon leader,” Lance said.  “You have any other symptoms, Hunk?”

            “Yeah, and you probably don’t want to know them all.”

            “Come on, read us the list,” Pidge said.

            “Uh… vomiting, muscle cramps, and severe diarrhea.”

            “Probably cholera, then.”

            “Hey, you got it!” Hunk flashed her his display.

            “What, you couldn’t have just TOLD us that?” Lance said.

            “Lance, is a poor carpenter on the Oregon Trail really going to know all the symptoms of every disease?  I’m in character.”

            “Yeah.  So’s our banker.”

            “Well then, Doctor Lance,” Pidge said.  “What do YOU think we should do?”

            Keith snorted.

            “Have you guys seriously not been boiling your water this whole time?”

            “Hmm,” Lance said.  “There’s a little voice in my head telling me to boil some water.”

            “Well it’s too late NOW,” Keith muttered.

            “I think we ought to stop for a rest,” Shiro said.

            “Sounds like a good idea,” said Lance.  “How long should we do that?  Three days?”

            “That’d be a good start,” said Hunk.

            “Man, this is gonna be BORING,” Lance sat back.  “You guys know any travel games?”

            “Yeah,” Hunk laughed.  “Let’s look for all the letters of the alphabet on the license plates that go by.”

            “Won’t have to,” Pidge said.  “It’s been three days.”

            “What?” Hunk sat up.  “Seriously?”

            “Well, you know time flies when you’re having fun,” Lance said.  “So do you still have cholera?”

            “Of course I still have cholera!”

            “You think you can handle it if we keep going?  Just sit back there and take it easy.”

            Hunk shrugged.

            “Whatever, I’ll feel sick either way.”

           

            Lance parked the wagon a little while later.

            “Lance?” Shiro asked.  “Something wrong?”

            Lance handed him the reins and crawled into the wagon.

            “I think I caught something from Hunk.”

            “Oh.  Sorry, buddy,” Hunk said.  “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m mostly over it.”

            “You want me to stop the wagon?” Shiro asked.

            “Nah, it’s okay, keep going.”

            Lance curled up next to Hunk.

            “I don’t think that’s what Hunk has,” Pidge said.  “You’ve got a thing on your face.”

            “What kind of thing?”

            “Well, given how few diseases this game is programmed with, I’d say it’s measles.”

            “Oh, come on, I was vaccinated for that!”

            “You’re sure you don’t want to stop and rest, Lance?” Shiro called back.

            “Yeah, it’s fine, me and Hunk got a party going back here.”

            He put an arm around Hunk and fell asleep.

 

            They came to a river crossing not long after.

            “Look,” Pidge said.  “There’s a Native American guide who might help us float the wagon across.”

            Shiro pulled up to the guide.

            “Hello,” he said.  “Do you know a way across this river?”

            The guide gestured to the other side.

            “If you want my help, it will cost you two sets of clothing.”

            “Two sets of clothing,” Shiro repeated to the crew.  “We don’t have that anymore, do we?”

            “Not unless we get naked,” Lance said.

            “Vetoed,” said Pidge.

            “Is there anything else we can do for you?” Shiro asked the guide.

            “If you want my help, it will cost you three sets of clothing.”

            “Wait, three?” Hunk said.  “Wasn’t it just two?”

            “Is there anything other than clothing we can offer you?” Pidge poked her head out of the wagon.

            “Two sets of clothing.”

            “Okay, I don’t think he’s gonna ask for anything we have,” Pidge said.

            “Guess that means we gotta float the wagon ourselves,” Hunk said.  “This one’s DEFINITELY too deep to ford.”

            “Right,” Pidge said.  “Let’s caulk this sucker.”

            “Um…” Lance raised a hand.  “What are we going to USE for that?”

            “Bacon.  Obviously.”

            “Oh, come ON!  Anything but the bacon!”

            “Sorry, Lance, it’s all we have,” Pidge shrugged.  “You can still eat it if you want.”

            “Lance, I would NEVER make you do that,” Hunk said.

            Shiro ducked into the wagon and opened a pack of bacon.

            “Well, we’ve been through worse.  We can manage this.”

            Lance made to get up.

            “Not YOU,” Pidge stopped him.  “I don’t want your measle-germs all over our food.”

            “You’re letting HUNK help,” Lance complained.

            “Well, it says I’m mostly better now,” Hunk said.  “Though apparently I still have occasional bouts of diarrhea?”

            “Wash your hands first,” Pidge grimaced.

            They stuffed all the corners with bacon.

            “Would you look at that,” Lance said.  “Good enough to eat.”

            “But WOULD you?” Keith said.

            “Guyyyyys, I’m hearing voices again,” Lance complained.

            Pidge glanced over with a smirk.

            “You’re sick.  You’re having delusions.”

            Hunk stifled a laugh.

            “Must mean you’re pretty far gone.  I don’t know if we can cure this.”

            “HUNK, do you even LOVE me?”

            “All right, is everyone ready?” Shiro called.  “We’re about to head in.”

            “Are you sure you don’t want my help?” said the NPC.

            “Oh my god, when will this game EVER stop judging us?” Lance sighed.  “Let’s just go!”

            They pushed the wagon into the river.

            “How are Chuck and Jose gonna get across?” Hunk asked, hopping back in.

            Pidge wrung out her sleeve.

            “Don’t question it.”

            “How’s the boat holding up, Shiro?” Lance called.

            “Well, we’re floating downstream a bit more than we probably want to.”

            “Hey, that’s called going with the flow.”

            The wagon began to rock.

            “Oh no,” Hunk said.  “I really don’t like boats.”

            “Just stay still,” Pidge said.  “The less motion, the better.”

            The wagon tipped over and they all fell in.

            They hauled it out onto the bank, where Chuck and Jose were waiting.

            “All right,” Shiro said.  “Is everyone here?”

            “Uh,” Hunk looked around, “Where’s Lance?”

            “LANCE IS APPARENTLY DEAD NOW BECAUSE HE CAN’T SWIM OR SOMETHING,” Lance shouted across the table.

            “Aw, dang,” Pidge said.  “Who’s gonna be wagon leader now?”

            “I AM AN AMAZING SWIMMER, THIS SHOULD NOT BE HAPPENING!”

            “I nominate YOU,” Hunk said.

            “Shiro?  Do you second that motion?”

            “Sure.”

            “AREN’T YOU GUYS GOING TO MOURN ME?  Jeez Keith, I can SEE why you’re such an angry ghost!”

            “It’s just a game, Lance,” Shiro said.

            “What are you talking about?” Hunk winked at Pidge.  “Are you disrespecting the dead?”

            “We should mark the spot,” Pidge said.  “After all, he WAS our treasured wagon leader.”

            “You bet your PANTALOONS I was!  Right, Keith?”

            “I don’t know,” Keith said.  “Dead people don’t talk.”

            “You mean I have to be dead with THIS boring guy??”

            “The wind’s really going, isn’t it?” Hunk said.

            Pidge took out a pen and a bottle of ink and scrawled an epitaph onto a wooden plank.

            _Lance McClain – that didn’t go well_

            “Hard to believe Lance drowned,” she said.  “He was such a good swimmer.”

            “Musta been those measles,” Hunk said.  “He probably could have made it out if he wasn’t sick.”

            “Did we lose anything besides Lance?” Pidge asked.

            Shiro checked their cargo.

            “Somehow, it looks like we still have everything else.  And we can probably salvage some of this bacon we used.”

 

            It had begun to snow on them.

            “Man,” Hunk shivered.  “Too bad we lost all our extra clothes.”

            Pidge slowed the wagon.

            “Well, we could turn in early today and start a fire.  Or…”

            “OR?” Hunk said.

            “Or we could go hunting and find something to skin.”

            “I hope you don’t mean the rabbits,” Hunk scoffed.  “Because that’s all I’ve seen so far.”

            “That’s because we haven’t gone off-trail,” Pidge said.  “This thing isn’t programmed to put big game on the trail.”

            Shiro looked skeptical.

            “Wouldn’t it be faster to just make a fire?”

            Pidge grinned.

            “You heard Lance.  Hunting is the only fun part of this game.”

 

            “Wow!”  Pidge exclaimed.  “Just look at that buffalo!”

            “Yeah, the system did a good job with it,” Hunk agreed.

            “You guys gonna shoot one soon?” Shiro asked, shivering.

            “Why don’t you go start a fire if you’re cold?” Hunk said.  “We’ll meet you back at the wagon.”

            “Not yet,” Pidge took aim.  “The more people we have here, the more of this BUFFALO we can carry back when we shoot it.”

            “Wait,” Shiro stopped her.  “Is that one of our oxen?”

            Loping along with a buffalo was a familiar-looking ox.

            “Shit,” Pidge lowered the gun.  “How did HE get out?”

            “Is it Chuck or Jose?” Lance put his fists on the table.

            “How should I know, it’s an ox!”

            “Well, is it white or is it off-white?”

            “It’s… I don’t know, it’s an ox!”

            The ox began to nuzzle its buffalo friend.

            “Oh man,” Hunk said.  “I think Chuckie’s in love!”

            “I think it’s actually Jose,” Shiro said.

            “Whatever,” Pidge growled.  “We gotta get him back!”

            “I dunno,” Hunk said.  “He looks so happy.”

            “We can’t make Jose pull the wagon all by himself!” Pidge said.

            “Sounds like you need a good cattle-rustler,” Lance said.  “Too bad I’m DEAD now.”

            “Lance, shut up, you’re a doctor.”

           

            They trudged through snowy fields to follow their ox.

            “On the bright side,” Hunk said, “We can follow our tracks back to the wagon.”

            “If they don’t get snowed over,” Pidge looked back at them.

            “There’s something over there,” Shiro said.

            Huffing behind a pine tree, lumbering through the snow.

            “Is that Jose’s boyfriend?” Hunk said.

            “Or Chuck’s boyfriend,” said Pidge.

            “Or his GIRLFRIEND, guys!” Lance shouted.

            “That’s not a bison,” Shiro said.  “That’s a bear.”

            “Oh jeez,” Hunk said.  “Let’s run.”

            “You don’t RUN if you see a bear,” Keith said.  “You back away slowly so you don’t startle it.”

            “Sorry, Keith, we didn’t hear that,” Pidge said.  “And I’m gonna shoot the bear.”

            She took aim and fired.

            “Oh fuck.  I think that just made him mad.”

            “You guys get out of here!” Hunk pushed Shiro and Pidge away.  “And gimme the gun, I’ll buy you some time!”

            “You sure?”

            “Just go!”

            Shiro picked up Pidge and began to run.

           

            “You think he’s okay?” Shiro asked when they were safely away.

            “This is Oregon Trail, of course he’s not okay.”

            “This is… a pretty violent computer game.”

            “It’s EDUCATIONAL.”

            “I’m gonna start a fire while we wait for him.”

            “That’s pretty optimistic of you.”

            Their one remaining ox breathed clouds in the cold.

            “Contact the spirits while you’re at it,” Pidge said.  “Ask them to remind you which one was the ox on the right.”

            “IT’S CHUCK,” Lance shouted.

            “Something tells me our last ox is Chuck,” Shiro said.

            Pidge pet the ox.

            “I sure hope Jose is living the dream out there.”

            “I hope Hunk’s okay.”

            “I’m sure he’s dead, Shiro.”

            “Hunk?” Shiro looked over the table.  “Are you dead?”

            Hunk didn’t say anything.

            “Hey, wait, you ARE dead, Hunk!” Lance peeked at his screen.

            Hunk sighed.

            “Laaance, I was being IN CHARACTER.  Dead people don’t TALK.”

            Shiro stoked the fire.

            “I think you’re right, I think Hunk is dead.”

            “Guess we oughta give him a marker, too.”

            Pidge drew a face on a piece of firewood.

            “Is that really my headstone?” Hunk said.

            “Sorry, Hunk.  My hands are too numb to write anything.”

 

            “You know I’d have come up with a much better headstone for Hunk,” Lance said as they traveled on.  “I’d have written something like, ‘Here lies the best guy that we didn’t deserve and now we’ll have sub-par bacon from now on.’”

            “Aww, thanks, Lance,” Hunk said.  “I’d have written something nice for you, too.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like, ‘The world will miss his beautiful smile.’”

            “Wow.  That’s poetic right there.”

            “Yeah.  I’m having a hard time coming up with one for Keith, though.”

            “Keith doesn’t need another epitaph, I already wrote him one.”

            “Yeah, but it sucks.”

            “Is that any way to speak to your wagon leader?”

            Pidge shook her head and glanced back at Shiro.

            “I swear, it’s like the spirits are following us.”

 

            The snow gave way to grass, and the grass gave way to desert.

            “You know, it kinda looks like home,” Pidge said.

            “All of it has,” said Shiro.  “Is that why you made this game?”

            “I guess maybe a little.”

            Shiro smiled at her, one of those sort-of-happy-but-mostly-not ones.

            “What the heck,” she halted the wagon.  “It’s nice here.  Let’s camp for a bit.”

 

            The desert was cold at night, even with the fire and the bacon.

            “I wonder if these are Altean constellations,” Shiro said.

            “Maybe.  Guess we’ll have to ask Coran.”

            Chuck lay sleeping by the wagon.

            “They’re all kind of like Earth, in a way,” Pidge said.  “All these planets.”

            Planets worked on by the same forces of nature.  Planets full of people.

            “Are you planning on sleeping tonight?” Shiro asked.

            Pidge looked at the stars and rubbed the sand between her fingers.

            “Probably not.”

 

            “How did YOU guys get it to be nighttime anyway?” Lance asked.  “We didn’t sit through a single night when I was still alive!”

            “It’s all about what you imagine,” Pidge said.  “You didn’t WANT us to sit through all those nights.  But I’M the wagon leader now, and I want it to be night.”         

            “Man,” Lance folded his arms.  “I wish I’D thought of that.”

            “Next time,” Pidge said.

            “Yeah,” Lance pulled in his fellow dead friends.  “I’ll make sure THESE guys get to be there, too.”

 

            The desert warmed up quickly in the morning.

            “I guess we should head back out again,” Pidge said.

            They hitched up Chuck and put out the fire.

            “Uh oh,” Shiro said.

            “What is it?”

            A rattlesnake slithered away from him.

            “Oh.  Shit.”

            “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said.

            “Did it bite you?”

            “Yes, and I am experiencing… bleeding, swelling, and other unpleasant symptoms.”

            “Ooh, let ME see, Shiro!” Lance said.  “I’m a doctor!”

            Shiro showed him the list.

            “Oh.  Yeah, that is pretty unpleasant.”

            “Where’d it bite you?” Pidge asked.

            “Right foot.”

            “Well it sure didn’t bite the WRONG foot!” Lance crowed.

            Shiro was already in the process of taking off his shoe.

            “Eesh,” Pidge said.  “I guess… we can clean it with water, but our water’s probably not that clean in the first place.”

            “I am so glad I don’t have to be there to imagine this,” Hunk said.

            “And we don’t have any bandages, so I guess we’ll have to use bacon.”

            “You know, Pidge,” Shiro said.  “It might be better if at this point I just die.”

            “Probably,” Pidge said.  “Then I get to keep the bacon.”

            “PIDGE,” Lance gasped.  “That is NOT how you’re supposed to respond to that!”

            “Lance, it’s a GAME.”

            “And that’s MY wagon party you’re killing there!”

            “It’s not her fault,” Shiro said.  “Oh.  Whoops, I guess I’m dead.”

            “PIDGE LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”

            “Huh,” Pidge said.  She stood up and looked around.  “Sure is quiet in the desert all by yourself.”

            “Write something for him,” Keith said.

            “I know,” Pidge said.  “I’m getting there.”

            She found some stones to arrange.

            “What are you writing?” Lance asked.

            Pidge grinned slyly.

            “Guess you’ll have to imagine THAT, too.”

           

            “On the bright side,” Pidge said as she travelled on, “your shoe didn’t disappear because you weren’t wearing it when you died.”

            “So, what,” Lance said, “Are you just… KEEPING it around?”

            “Look, Lance, I don’t judge you for the things YOU keep.”

            “Kinda sounds like Cinderella,” Hunk said.  “Course, I don’t know who you’re gonna try the shoe on.”

            “You could plant a daisy in it,” Lance suggested.

            Pidge sighed.

            “How is it that you guys are more annoying DEAD than alive?”

 

            “Come on, Pidge,” Lance complained.  “You at least gotta TELL us what’s happening!”

            “Had another fire in the wagon,” Pidge grumbled.  “And it looks like I lost… everything.”

            “Even the shoe??”

            “Even the shoe.”

            “Oh no,” Hunk said.  “I guess you gotta find some other travelers and trade stuff now.”

            “Hunk, I have ONE ox right now, and I’m not trading HIM.”

            “Well, you’re rich, right?” Lance said.  “There’s gotta be someone you can BUY stuff from.”

            “Well, the map’s been burned away, too, but I’m pretty sure we’re nowhere near a stop where commerce happens.”

            “So what are you gonna do?” Hunk asked.

            Pidge climbed onto Chuck’s back.

            “Anything I can.”

 

            The western frontier had seen some strange things, and today it was getting Pidge Gunderson, the wealthy accountant who had left her home to talk to ghosts and ride on an ox.

            “Do you even have any food?” Hunk asked.

            “I have WILLPOWER.”

            They limped to the swells of the Columbia River, Pidge and her flea-bitten mount.

            “This is it,” she said.  “It’s just down this river.”

            “Yeah,” Hunk said.  “Can Chuck SWIM?”

            “Chuck is GOING to swim.”

            “Oh come on!” Lance said.  “Don’t make him do that!”

            “Are you here on this trip?” Pidge said.  “Did you survive all the fires and rivers and measles outbreaks?  Are you alive to tell me what I CAN’T do?”

            “Pidge, calm down,” Shiro said.  “You’ve already made it this far.”

            She pulled a twig out of her hair and flicked it aside.

            “We’re getting to the end, and we’re not stopping just because LANCE thinks he’s a better wagon leader!”

            “Pidge, have you been stopping to sleep?” Hunk asked.

            “I HAVE BEEN GETTING TO OREGON.”  She drove Chuck to the riverbank.  “All right, Chuck.  Get in.”

            Chuck mooed and obeyed.

            “Is it working?” Lance said.

            “SHUT UP I’M CONCENTRATING.”

            Chuck bobbed in the water.  She was wet to the knees.

            “So yeah,” Hunk said.  “This is the hardest part of the game, where you have to steer your wagon down a river and not hit any rocks.”

            “I KNOW THAT ALREADY.”

            “I’m explaining it for people who might not know that.”

            “Oh.  Right.”

            “This game seems hard enough as it is,” Shiro said.

            “Is Chuck floating?” asked Keith.

            “Chuck is currently floating but don’t breathe because he might stop.”

            “How do you steer an ox down a river?” Lance said.

            “DON’T MAKE ME QUESTION IT OR I’LL SINK.”

            “I think that’s the imagination part of this game,” Hunk said.

            Lance scoffed.

            “Well I’m also trying to imagine this picture and it’s hilarious.”

 

            They landed just barely on the proper bank.

            Pidge dismounted from Chuck and collapsed against him.

            “We made it.  Chuckie boy, you’re my new best friend.”

            “You mean he’s your ONLY friend now that we’re DEAD,” Lance grumbled.

            There was a person waving by the landing.

            “Welcome to Willamette Valley!”

            “So there’s like a townsman here,” Pidge said.  She walked up to him with Chuck.  “Hello yes I made it now GIVE ME MY REWARD.”

            “We give out land according to how well it will be used by each family,” said the greeter.  “Your most important resource is the people you have with you.  You receive points for every person who arrives safely.”

            “Ah, fuck,” Pidge said.

            “I see that four out of five people in your party have died.  My sincere condolences.”

            “Just give me my land already.”

            “I see your occupation is ‘banker,’” said the townsman.  “We have a much greater need for farmers and carpenters than bankers out here.”

            “Yeah, I’ll bet you DO.”

            “I think we can get you a cute little parcel o’ land,” the man said.  “Bit hard to till, but you probably weren’t gonna try that anyway.”

            “I didn’t program you to insult my capabilities.”

            “Well, you have a good time setting up house!  Congratulations on making it to Oregon!”

            “What, they’re not even gonna help me?  I’m one frikkin’ person here.”

            “Well hey, Pidge, I’m proud of you,” Lance clapped her on the shoulder.  “You led the wagon in my stead, and even when everybody died, you kept going.  Who cares if you lost a few nights’ sleep and all your stuff and got a shitty packet of land in a town where all your neighbors have way better ones?  Like you said, it’s EDUCATIONAL.”

            Pidge groaned.

            “I hate this game.”


End file.
